


view from the stands

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke is a volleyball player and bellamy enjoys the view</p><p>or, the one where bellamy loves clarke griffin’s ass in spandex</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arguments and make outs

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this post](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com/post/116792234272)
> 
> i actually had so much fun writing this, so i really hope you like itttttttt

A disappointed sound echoes throughout the court, the crowd rallying quickly afterwards, as the volleyball falls just a few inches outside of the line, the opposing team all shouting  _out_  at the same time–as if they didn’t all already know. Clarke groans, her hands reaching instinctively for the hem of her spandex and tugging angrily. She runs a hand over her braid quickly before squatting back into position as the opposite team readies to serve.

Bellamy watches anxiously from the bleachers as the ball bounces around the court, groaning every time the other team scores and cheering as loud as he can when they score, smiling at Octavia whenever she scans the crowd for him. She pretends to look embarrassed by him—her overenthusiastic older brother—but he can see the small smile on her face as he calls out her name whenever she smacks the ball down over the net, fulfilling Raven’s position as right outside hitter while she’s out with a leg injury.

He cheers on his sister the whole game, his hands stinging from all the clapping, but during lulls when the volleys are pretty standard– _boring_ –his eyes are glued to the team captain’s ass. Clarke Griffin stands out on the court, the white of her jersey keeping her easy to see from the stands despite the fact that she is the  _shortest_  on the team, in a sea of otherwise navy blue jerseys. She bounces around the court, her knees bent and her stance ready for whatever comes over that net.

Her ass is smooth, round, and perky underneath the skintight material of her spandex. Years of playing volleyball–he’s pretty sure he heard her bragging on about being the captain on her high school team as well–have done her ass a great justice _and_ it is still slightly fuller than most of the girls’ on the team. Many of them tower over Clarke, their hips and thighs thinner and their torsos longer.

Bellamy has to tear his gaze away when the team sags in disappointment as the opposing team leads the game again, Clarke spinning in a circle, her hands on her head, before getting back into position. She was only turned towards the crowd for a second, but Bellamy could practically see the frustration quickly replaced by determination as she turns once more to face the enemy.

The team rallies and  _fast_ , Clarke running around the middle of the court, diving fearlessly into the gymnasium floor, and Octavia jumping high and hitting down hard. They win 23-25. The crowd stands as Octavia scores the final, winning point. The team all huddle around her, celebrating for a few moments before lining up to salute the other team, a long series of low-fives under the net. Clarke stands talking to the other team’s captain as Bellamy makes his way onto the court to gather his sister into a big hug.

“Good job, O! You did really great,” he says to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he finally lets go. 

Clarke walks by, making her way to the sidelines to grab her bag, her fingers playing idly with the end of her messy braid.

“Good job, cap,” Bellamy says to her, smirking. He can tell she wants to groan, maybe tell him to fuck off, but she smiles quickly at Octavia, placing a light hand on her shoulder before saying  _thanks_ , her smile only slightly exasperated. If Bellamy didn’t know any better, he’d think there was a little fondness in the last look she gives him as she walks away to grab her gear.

*******

He only lets her go to the party if he comes with, even though she takes off into the throng of people the moment they enter the house and he loses her in the crowd. Bellamy would be more worried, but he knows most of O’s team is also here, celebrating their win, and he trusts her with them. Okay,  _mostly_.

He leans against the counter in the kitchen, nursing a beer and trying not to check on Octavia every five minutes to make sure she’s okay. Last time he saw her, she was playing beer pong with some guys from the swim team, Monroe had just made a shot, her red braids spinning around her when she victory dances, and Raven was leaning onto Octavia, the two of them laughing and yelling insults across the table.

He’s surprised to feel her settle in beside him, pushing herself up onto the counter beside him. She swings her feet, her heels tapping the cupboards every few moments. Bellamy turns his head to see a sea of blonde—Clarke’s hair out of her braid and wavy around her shoulders. She’s wearing a tank top and jeans and Bellamy tries to ignore the disappointment he feels when he can’t see the smooth skin of her thighs. They sit in silence, Bellamy taking another sip of his beer as Clarke eyes the amber liquid in her red cup.

“Octavia did good tonight,” Clarke starts, turning her head to the side to look up at him.

“Yeah, she did. She’s been practicing like crazy,” he responds, an affectionate smile on his face at the thought of his sister. “She really looks up to you, you know?” Bellamy adds, “I think she’s been trying to impress you.”

“Shut up,” Clarke says, smacking his shoulder and looking down at her lap, her cheeks flushing. “She’s a great volleyball player, she’s improved a lot since she joined the team.”

“Hard work and a great team captain can do that,” Bellamy says, chuckling when she goes red in the face.

She recovers quickly, a smirk spreading across her face when she retorts, “Oh? I’m a _great_ captain now?”

Now Bellamy bows his head, ignoring the heat rushing to his cheeks, “Shut up.”

He may have told Clarke she was a horrible team captain who didn’t care about the rest of her team a few weeks ago. Octavia had just been moved to her new position as Raven’s replacement after she tore her ACL. Bellamy had come to the gym early to pick up Octavia, refusing to let her walk back to her apartment alone when he could easily drive her home. He had come in during the backend of practice, a few moments before Octavia and Clarke ran into each other going for the ball, knocking both of them flat on their asses.

Clarke panicked, quickly getting up to make sure Octavia was okay, sighing in relief when she was before talking in hushed whispers about how to avoid situations like this. Since Clarke and Raven had been playing together so long they knew the other’s movements before they did them. With Octavia new to the front line, her and Clarke had been having quite a few run-ins, but they were working on it.

Bellamy refused to let it go though, stomping over to the court to call Clarke out.

“If you stopped trying to be the star of the team and not giving a shit about the other players, maybe things that this wouldn’t happen,” he practically yelled at her. The team moved out of his way, getting out of his warpath. Octavia tried to intervene, telling Bellamy he was out of line and she was _fine_ , anyways, but he didn’t listen.

“Let’s discuss this outside,” Clarke said, her voice stern in between drawn lips, leading him out to the alley behind the gym.

“You need to let me captain my own team!” Clarke yelled, her hands flying into the air in exasperation. “You’re not even supposed to be here, it’s practice, for Christ’s sake. And you don’t even _play_ volleyball! If you can’t quietly watch practice, you need to leave. I don’t need any overprotective mother hens in my gymnasium!”

They were both seething, their voices getting louder and louder as they get closer and closer. Bellamy stopped yelling when he realized how close they were, her short stature practically underneath him as they stood inches apart.

Clarke held her breath when she saw Bellamy’s gaze drift to her lips, dragging back up to her eyes for a few moments before settling on her lips again. His hands were lifting from his sides, about to grab onto her waist, when the back door of the gymnasium swung open and Octavia came barreling out.

“Stop harassing my team captain, Bell. Let’s go home,” she said, hand on her hip as she waited for Bellamy to comply. Clarke shoved past him before he could, quickly grabbing her stuff and tossing a tense “good practice” over her shoulder as she stormed out of the gym.

Clarke laughs at the look on his face as he replays the fight in his mind, quickly taking a sip of her drink when Bellamy lightly pushes on her shoulder, laughing with her for a moment.

“I take it back,” he says after a few moments, his voice hushed as if they weren’t at a house party that could probably be heard down the block. “You’re a good captain. I can see how much you care about the girls.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says, leaning her shoulder against his for a few moments before swaying back into place. “They’re practically my family.”

Bellamy grips the counter, his pinky finger rubbing against the rough material of Clarke’s jeans as it rests against her thigh. He waits for her to move away, to indicate that he should move, but she doesn’t and he lets his hand rest there. They sit in silence, listening to the thrumming base of the music in the next room and the sound of cheers most likely coming from the beer pong table.

Clarke leans into him, a mischievous smirk on his face when he looks up at her.

“You’re still a mother hen,” she says, unable to stifle her giggles.

Bellamy just looks at her for a few moments—the way her cheeks are pink, flushed from her laughter and probably the drink in her hand, the way her bra strap has fallen off her shoulder underneath her tank top, the light blue strap brushing against her upper arm. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, she can’t stop laughing and Bellamy is laughing with her now, leaning towards her.

When Clarke finally stops, trying to regain her composure, Bellamy is closer to her, his tall frame leaning over her own. She looks up at him, his dark eyes focused on her own, and takes in a sharp breath at their proximity. She slowly slides of the counter and Bellamy turns away, afraid he has made her uncomfortable, cursing himself under his breath.

He doesn’t expect her to move into him, looking up at him with her big blue eyes and her soft, pink lips. Bellamy wants to kiss her then, lean down and brush his lips against hers, but he doesn’t.

She braces herself, hands wrapping around his thick biceps. Clarke’s lips meet his messily as she pushes herself onto her tippy toes to kiss him. Bellamy takes no time kissing her back, pressing his lips firmly against her, sighing into her as she wraps her arms more firmly around him. Her mouth opens in shock when he wraps his arms around her waist, hands going straight for her ass and squeezing lightly. Bellamy’s attempt to deepen their kiss is thwarted when Clarke is pulling away to laugh once again.

“What?” Bellamy asks, grudgingly moving his hands up to grasp onto her waist.

“I just,” Clarke makes out between bursts of giggles, “Of course you would.” It’s all she gets out before she’s laughing again, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.

Bellamy revels in the intimacy, the closeness of Clarke, before pulling away to look at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, smirking down at her before sliding one hand back down and pinching lightly at one cheek.

She squeals, pressing forward into him, until he’s kissing her again, his lips capturing her laugh. He smiles against her lips as he walks forward, backing her up into the isle in the middle of the kitchen. Bellamy kisses her firmly, hands resting on the side of her thighs, his fingers grazing the rounded curve of her ass. Clarke parts her lips as she sighs and Bellamy takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, the taste of whiskey flooding his mouth.

When Clarke breaks away for air, Bellamy places soft kisses down her neck, tasting the thin sheen of sweat on her skin. His lips are the top of her shoulder when she speaks, amusement lacing her tone, “Bellamy, why don’t you ever sit on the sides of the court? They’re so much closer than the bleachers.”

Bellamy laughs against her skin and it makes her shiver. “I’m sure the side view of your perfect ass,” he squeezes the side of her behind then to _emphasize_ his point, “is just as good, princess, but a man has his preferences.”

He kisses back up her throat as Clarke opens her mouth in mock indignation before breaking character as a breathy whine escapes her throat when Bellamy nips lightly at the base of her neck. His lips are back on hers in moments, quickly picking up where they left off. He gropes her ass and hauls her up onto the island, settling himself between her thighs as he tangles a hand in her loose waves, tugging lightly on the strands.

They only pull away when Octavia comes stumbling into the kitchen, a bright smile on her face when she sees Bellamy take a big step back and Clarke clamors off the counter. She runs into him then, a little wobbly on her feet, and Bellamy quickly grabs her shoulders to straighten her as Octavia watches on in amusement.

“I was just looking for my ride home,” Octavia says with a smirk, “but if you’re busy, I can…”

Bellamy is already walking towards her, a hand on her shoulder before she can walk back out the door, “No, no, we can go.”

Octavia opens her mouth, but Bellamy quickly stops her with a hushed whisper, “Don’t you say a word.” She closes her mouth but can’t help but laugh at the flush high of her big brother’s cheeks. If Octavia sees the awkward wave Bellamy gives Clarke, a small smile on his face before he turns to walk her out, she doesn’t say anything.


	2. milkshakes and much more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke is a volleyball player and bellamy enjoys the view
> 
> _okay_ , or, the one where maybe he likes _her_ , too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k sO THIS GOT MUCH LONGER THAN I WAS HOPING BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

Bellamy groans from the bleachers as the other team scores _again_. The girls are having a bad night, something is off and it’s showing. He hasn’t even had the time to admire Clarke’s ass like he usually does. He’s too worried about the team and he sits on the edge of his seat, legs bouncing with nervous anticipation. He grimaces when another point goes up on the scoreboard, not in their favor, and Clarke looks back at the crowd—at _him_. 

She looks so frustrated that she could scream, and Bellamy’s sure she wants to. It’s been a bad week with Harper out with a sprained ankle and there had been a few extra practices scheduled to accommodate. Maybe not enough.

Clarke isn’t very surprised when they lose the last match, a lousy 18-25. She walks over to the net somberly, congratulating the opposing team captain with a firm handshake under the net and a _good game_. Back over to the sidelines, she grabs her father’s old Yale sweater from her bag and grumpily tugs it on. By the time it’s finally over her head, hair flying wildly from her braid, Bellamy and Octavia are standing in front of her.

“Come on.” Bellamy extends his hand. “We’re going out for milkshakes.” He gives her a smile that has her reciprocating despite her bad mood, slipping her hand into his. She smiles just a _little_ bit more when he entangles their fingers, squeezing a bit as he looks over at her. They meet Lincoln, Octavia’s boyfriend, at the gymnasium entrance before jumping into Bellamy’s 2005 Honda Civic as Lincoln follows on his bike.

They take her to the Dropship, a restaurant made to look like a futuristic diner. It’s all red booths and neon lights lining the walls, and it makes her feel twelve again. Octavia gushes about their milkshakes—the best in the city, _maybe the whole world_. Clarke slides in next to Bellamy, orders a strawberry milkshake, and leans on his shoulder while they wait. He picks up the hand settled in her lap, bringing it to settle on his thigh. He cradles it with one hand, drawing patterns on the back of it with the other. She smiles into the soft material of his sweater, listening to the conversation around her—content not saying a word.

She almost moans when she takes the first sip of her milkshake and Octavia practically screams ‘ _I told you so’_ across the table, a grin on her face as she drinks her own—coconut. Bellamy steals a sip of Clarke’s shake, laughing at the exaggerated pout on her face when he slides it away from her grasp. He gladly pushes his towards her, chuckling at the way she scowls.

“Pineapple?” she scrunches her nose in disgust.

“More for me then,” Bellamy says with a wink, returning her own pinkish drink to its rightful spot. 

He pokes her in the side when she sticks her tongue out at him, making her laugh. Bellamy really wants to kiss her, but he is very aware that his sister and her boyfriend are sitting right across the table. Octavia smirks at him amusedly when she’s not whispering sweet nothings into her boyfriend’s ear or smearing whip cream on his face.

Bellamy settles for wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. He presses a whisper of a kiss to her temple when Octavia isn’t looking.

When Octavia finally leaves with Lincoln, Bellamy only worries a little, telling her to text him when she got home and Lincoln to be careful on that _damn_ motorcycle and to keep his little sister safe. Lincoln nods in agreement, picking up Octavia’s duffle and walking her to the parking lot.

They stand under the Dropship’s awning, watching Octavia and Lincoln leave before walking towards Bellamy’s car. Clarke is still tucked into his side, her bag brushing her calves as she walks next to him.

“Let’s get you home,” Bellamy says. He gives her a quick peck on the lips as they pull apart, turning separate ways at the hood of his car to get in.

He turns off the engine when they park in front of her apartment building, knowing she’ll want to talk about the game. She looked happy enough at the diner, but he knows she’s still upset about the loss. It’s the first the team has had in a while and it was a heavy blow for everyone.

Bellamy shifts in his seat, angling himself towards her as she leans her head back on the headrest, letting out a loud sigh. He puts a warm hand on her thigh, on the track pants she has on over her spandex. She looks up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Clarke lets out another shaky breath, a humorless laugh, and Bellamy raises a hand to wipe away the single tear that slipped down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes with balled fists. “We just lost so hard today.”

“Hey.” Bellamy grabs her wrist, pulling her hand into his. “You guys did your best, you always do.”

“I know, I know. It’s just disappointing.” She looks out the window for a moment, into the dark hedges circling her apartment building. “We tried our damned hardest, though, I gotta give the girls that.” Clarke says it with a little smile, a proud team captain. They didn’t give up without a fight. She’s sad now, but they both know by next practice she’ll be up and running again, working on the team’s weakness for the next game. 

“I know I’ve already said this,” Bellamy says with a quirk of the lip. “But you’re a great team captain, and all of the girls know that. You push them to do their best, you make them better players.” He nudges her thigh with their entwined hands until she’s looking up at him. “You lost this one, but you won’t lose them all. You have a great team, cap.”

She rolls her eyes, but he still sees the thankful smile on her face, the way she faces him in her seat. Clarke looks up at him, biting her lip as she leans over the center console. Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to meet her halfway. The kiss is firm, comforting until Bellamy is placing a hand to the nape of her neck and Clarke is dragging her tongue across his lips. She lets out an adorable sigh when he sweeps his tongue into her mouth, tasting the remaining sweetness of her strawberry shake.

Bellamy keeps one hand behind her neck, fingers threaded into the base of her braid. The other spreads across her ribcage, his fingers gripping around her side, keeping her close to him. His hand slowly moves up her ribcage, until his fingers are brushing the edge of her breast. Clarke presses her chest into his hand encouragingly. It isn’t until he’s uncomfortably leaning over the console, the side of his thigh pressed into the steering wheel that he pulls away, out of breath.

He leans back into his seat, trying to catch his breath. Looking over, he sees Clarke doing the same, a wide grin on her face. Bellamy leans back over to press a soft kiss to her lips, lingering for a few moments. He nuzzles his nose against hers, before pulling back. “You should probably head up. It’s been a long day,” he says, his hand over hers on the middle console.

“Yeah, I probably should,” Clarke says. She straightens her sweater, reaching for her bag in the backseat. Her hands on the door handle when she stops, turning back to look at him. She looks a little nervous, her teeth nipping at the inside of her cheek. “You can come up with me, if you want.” She’s looking at him expectantly and he can only blink dumbly. “Raven’s staying with Wick tonight.”

Bellamy nods slowly, nervous but not missing the relieved smile on Clarke’s face. He gets out of the car and hurries around to grab her bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he locks the doors.

Once inside her small apartment on the second floor, Clarke grabs her bag and takes it down the hall. She comes back a few moments later, sweatpants off and her braid undone, leaving her waves to fall around her shoulders. Bellamy tries not to stare at her legs and fails terribly, his eyes following the smooth lines up to the small black lines of her shorts just peeking out of her huge Yale sweater.

Clarke looks up at him. She watches as he stands by the couch, looking around the apartment he’s never really been able to see before. Previously, he’d only seen peaks of the living room when he walked her up to her place after a few coffee dates between classes, practices, and Bellamy's newest project on Emperor Augustus. Her hands tangle in an anxious knot in front of her as she steps forward to sit on the couch settled in between them. Bellamy follows her lead, sitting beside her, his jeaned thigh rubbing up against her knee as she folds her legs underneath her.

“Nice place,” he says as his hand lands on her knee. “It’s definitely _you_.” He looks around at all the canvases on the wall, assuming some of them are her own. He chuckles when he sees the textbooks littering the coffee table, a mixture of pre-med and aerospace engineering. _Nerds_ —a mumble under his breath.

“Says the museum curator,” Clarke retorts, shoving at his shoulder.

He laughs, grabbing her wrist before she can pull it away from him. Bellamy tugs playfully, bringing her closer to him until they’re just a few inches apart. Clarke smiles, eyes darting from his eyes to his lips, before leaning in the rest of the way. With no obstacle in the way, Bellamy wraps his arms around her, one hand tangling into her mess of blonde waves, and the other on the small of her back, pressing her closer and closer to him. 

She moans into his mouth when he sneaks his hand up her sweater, pressing his palm to the hot bare skin of her lower back. Clarke leans back to pull her sweater off and Bellamy quickly raises his hands to help, throwing it onto the table before reclaiming her lips with his own. He eagerly explores her mouth with his tongue, thorough but languid, enjoying the precious time they have.

This isn’t the first time they’d had made out like this—these kind of sessions usually occurred on the side of the gym after practice. It’s not even the first time they’ve fooled around, having gotten each other off with hands and mouths in the back of his car when he drives her home. But it _is_ the first time they’ve had the time to just explore each other, to feel one another, to drag out their pleasure together. Bellamy intends to take all the time he can, making the most of this opportunity. Clarke doesn’t seem to mind at all as she melts into his arms, hands exploring the hard planes of his chest under the thin material of his t-shirt as Bellamy presses slow kisses over her jaw and down her neck.

Clarke leans back onto the couch, laughing when Bellamy enthusiastically follows and he nips at her throat in retaliation. He has one arm braced on the couch, keeping himself over her and the other slowing trailing up and down her side, pushing her jersey higher and higher up her torso. Clarke wraps her arms around his broad shoulders pulling him down onto her, reveling in the way he feels pressed against her. Bellamy groans when he unconsciously grinds up against her, his face falling into her neck as she giggles.

“Maybe.” His voice rumbles against her skin. “We should take this to your room.”

Clarke nods, pushing lightly on his shoulders until he gets up. They make it halfway down the hallway before he’s kissing her again, big hands wrapping around the bare skin of her hips. She grabs for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and laughing at the mess of curls he’s left with when his shirt is on the hallway floor. Bellamy backs her up into the wall. 

“May I?” he asks, hands gripping the bottom of her jersey. “To make it even, of course.” He smirks at the way she’s staring at his bare chest. She nods and Bellamy pulls it off, quickly taking in each new inch of bare skin with his eyes.

His gaze is full of awe, admiration, and Clarke feels her face heat up as she refrains from crossing her arms over her chest. She isn’t shy about her body and years of playing volleyball have given her even more reason to be completely unashamed of her appearance. She knows the effect she can have on people: the way her exes had been drawn to her full breasts, the soft curves that persist despite her toned muscles. She knows she’s gorgeous, but she’s still very much struck by the look in his eye, the adoration in his touch. He looks at her, touches her as though she’s something precious—something to be cherished. He kisses her again slowly, savoring the moment, his hands trailing lines of heat down her sides and up the bare planes of her back.

Bellamy trips over the doorway into her bedroom, falling forward with Clarke in his arms. She yelps when her back hits the doorknob painfully, and then Bellamy is straightening up as quickly as he can, his arms wrapping around her to rub at the skin that’s probably going to be bruised in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” he says against her cheek, backing her up slowly. There’s a little laugh in his voice that has Clarke scrunching her nose. “Are you okay?”

She kisses his cheek, whispering _it’s okay_ into his skin with a smile on her face. He’s still soothing the red mark on her back when he’s kissing her again, until she’s falling back on the end of her mattress. Bellamy takes a moment to look down at her, the way her breasts heave against the material of her bra with every heavy breath, how her hair fans around her head, a pretty gold against the white of her sheets. She reaches up for him, impatient grabby hands that cause Bellamy to fall forward onto the bed over her. He leaves quick kisses on her face, her cheeks, before moving down her chest and the top of her breasts.

He slows when he reaches the waistband of her spandex, his tongue wetting the skin just above it. Bellamy looks back up at her, his fingers hooking in between the material and her skin. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, the pads of his thumbs grazing her hipbones. She nods, a high flush on her cheeks. Bellamy tugs the spandex down, taking her underwear down with them. He kneels between her spread thighs, her feet on the ground, his fingers caressing the soft skin above her knee. Bellamy looks up at her again, his fingers reaching higher and higher up her thighs, but not high enough until she’s nodding frantically and he brushes lightly against her sex.

He leans in, dropping a kiss right above her heat. Clarke closes her eyes, leaning back against her mattress as Bellamy licks at her, his mouth wet and warm against her cunt, making her moan softly as her hands clench into her sheets. She comes with only a little instruction on her part, a hand in his hair tugging when she needs him elsewhere and keeping him in place when he’s swirling his tongue around her clit. Bellamy drags his tongue across her in earnest, determined to make her feel good with an enthusiasm that warms Clarke’s heart even as her thighs are shaking. She begs for his fingers— _please, Bell, I need more_ —that have her skin tingling with pleasure as she falls over the edge, her thighs clamped around his ears until he’s chuckling against her. 

Bellamy kisses her neck as she lies there, drawing patterns on the soft skin of her stomach. He reaches the skin under her ear and she jerks away, wiggling out from underneath him, her hand placed over the spot. She sees the devious look in his eye and tries to move away, but she’s not fast enough. Bellamy pulls her close to him, his face buried in her neck as he nuzzles into her neck, leaving small kisses under her ear that have her giggling uncontrollably underneath him until he finally relents, letting her catch her breath.

“Jerk,” she says once she’s recovered, pushing his shoulder.

“But you like me anyways,” Bellamy retorts, quickly pressing a sloppy kiss to her exasperated smile. 

The kiss deepens once she’s finally melted into him. Clarke’s heart speeds up when she tastes herself on his tongue, desire pulling low in her belly. She groans when she realizes he still has his jeans on, hastily fiddles with the buttons until he’s smiling at her, his big hands enveloping hers. He quickly gets them unbuttoned, kicking them down his legs until they’re dropped off the end of the bed.

“Okay, so how do you get this thing off?” Bellamy asks, gesturing at her sports bra. He goes to reach for the band when Clarke stops him with a hand out in front of her.

“I’ll get it off, give me a minute,” Clarke says as she sits up. Her cheeks heat up as she pulls at the elastic band in vain, the material sticking to her skin. She wiggles a bit, shaking the bed, and Bellamy tries not to laugh, watching in amusement as she yanks the band over her breasts just for it to get stuck under her armpits. Bellamy intervenes then, helping her lift the sports bra over her head. “Next time, I’ll be wearing a bra and _you_ can take it off.”

“Next time?” He’s smirking at her and Clarke just rolls her eyes. “Shame,” Bellamy says, kissing her soundly. “I like the sports bra wiggle.”

He still laughs after she hits his shoulder. Her breasts jiggle with the movement and his attention is quickly averted, hands reaching up to cup them. Clarke moans softly when he squeezes lightly, the pads of his thumbs brushing over her nipples. Bellamy eagerly dips his head, his tongue laving over her sensitive skin, his mouth closing over a nipple. He’s thrilled when she moans louder, her hand landing on his shoulder and her fingernails digging into his bicep, more than happy to spend an eternity worshipping the perfection that is Clarke Griffin’s chest. Clarke doesn’t seem to mind, her fingers threading into his hair to keep him in place, her thighs rubbing together in need of friction.

It’s not until Clarke’s hand are reaching into the elastic of his boxer briefs that Bellamy lets her nipple fall from his mouth and he groans into the valley between her breasts. She wraps her fingers around him, hand smoothing up and down his cock as she tries to gauge what he likes. Bellamy kisses her shoulder as she reaches the head, spreading the arousal that has collected there down his shaft. She knows she’s finally found the right movement when his hands fall over her own, his mouth now pressed into her neck as he mumbles.

“What?” Clarke asks, pulling back.

“This is going to be over embarrassingly quickly if you keep doing that,” Bellamy tells her, his voice low.

Clarke withdraws sheepishly, cheeks turning a bright pink. Bellamy kisses her again, hands on her hips as he pushes her up the bed so she can lie down underneath him. He shifts to get his boxers off, throwing them to the ground as he settles over her again. Clarke feels his cock thick and heavy against her thigh and has to stop herself from grinding against him. 

“Condoms are in the top drawer,” she says, nodding towards the bedside table to her left.

Bellamy reaches over her to grab one, almost falling off the bed in the process. Clarke quickly reaches up, hands gripping his sides to keep him steady. He returns with the small foil package in hand, a triumphant—if a little embarrassed—smile on his face.

Clarke lets out a surprised squeak when Bellamy first pushes in, her eyes squeezing shut. Bellamy stills. His forehead falls to her shoulder and his arms shake a little as he keeps himself in place above her. “ _Fuck_ , I’m sorry,” he says, voice tight. 

“It’s okay.” Her hand reaches up to slide through the curls at his temple. She whispers into his hair, “Just go slow. I’ll tell you if I need you to stop.” Bellamy leans back then to look at her, concern drawn in the crease of his eyebrows. She gives him a little nod and he lets out a sigh before he slowly pushes further into her.

Clarke eventually pushes up into him, urging him to move a little faster, letting out a soft groan with each thrust. He stretches her out in a deliciously dull pain, a dragging pleasure that has her clenching around him, but it’s just not working. She groans in frustration for the fourth time when Bellamy’s own dissatisfaction shows on his face. Clarke bits her lip thoughtfully before pushing up on his shoulders.

“Plan B,” she says as explanation, guiding him onto his back as she straddles his hips. Bellamy watches with wide eyes as she settles herself over him, slowly sliding down his cock. Her hands rest on his chest as she shifts, trying to find the best position. Bellamy watches her frown, her eyebrows scrunched together, but then she sighs, her eyes rolling back. He places his hands over her hips, lightly squeezing the soft curves as Clarke’s back arches.

“We good?” Bellamy says, fingers squeezing harder when she rocks against him in an attempt not to thrust up into her.

Her voice is thick, raspy, when she answers him. “ _God_ , yes.”

Bellamy all but sighs in relief when she speeds up. He waits until she’s establish a good rhythm before meeting her thrusts, watching in appreciation as her breasts bounce above him. His big, warm hands slide up her sides until his thumbs are brushing the underside of her breasts, sending warmth up Clarke’s chest.

Clarke brings a hand to her clit, rubbing fast circles as Bellamy thrusts harder into her. His hands grip tightly around her hips with a force that she almost hopes bruises, leaving her with a sore reminder in the morning. She comes with a small groan, falling forward against Bellamy’s chest. His arms wrap around her as he follows quickly behind, his lips quickly finding the smooth skin of her neck, leaving a few kisses before he rolls them onto their sides so he can take the condom off.

She’s lying on her back, a content smile on her face when he comes back. Bellamy curls in next to her, moving her so her back is pressed to his chest. He mumbles into her hair, “Well, that was a disaster.” Bellamy laughs and she giggles along with him, the laughter coming up easily as she snuggles into his embrace. 

“No it wasn’t,” Clarke says, turning her head to the side to make sure he can hear her. “It was _nearly_ a disaster, but I think we pulled it off in the final stretch. Besides, next time will be better.” She hisses when Bellamy pinches the top of her thigh lightly. “Jerk.”

(Next time is a few hours later when Bellamy wakes to Clarke going down on him, and yeah, it _really_ is.)

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can come cry with me on [tumblr](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) :))


End file.
